


Never Doubt I Love

by eeriee



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Kissing, Lots of kissing, M/M, Marriage Proposal, References to Hamlet, References to Shakespeare, Refrences to Much Ado About Nothing, Shakespeare Quotations, Wedding Planning, Weddings, brief mention of torture, s4 never happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 17:24:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9502301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeriee/pseuds/eeriee
Summary: "I just remembered a few lines.Doubt thou the stars are fire,Doubt that the sun doth move,Doubt truth to be a liar,But never doubt I love."Sherlock scrunches his nose at that."Hamlet. I do hope you remember how the play ended, it's not the best of things to quote when proposing to someone."





	

Purple and blue bruises litter Sherlock's thighs, his hipbones and collarbones are red and violet with bite marks, but his neck is the crowning glory. John brushes his fingers over the crescents that form patterns on that long expanse of skin. Sherlock shivers slightly and opens his eyes slowly. John smiles and strokes Sherlock's bottom lip. 

"How are you feeling?"

"Amazing. I doubt I'll be able to walk normally, but amazing." Sherlock smiles dazzlingly. 

"You look gorgeous. Absolutely beautiful..." John drawls as his hand makes its way to Sherlock's curls, Sherlock nearly purring under the attention. 

"I'll get us something to eat, okay, love?"

John presses a kiss to Sherlock's lips and turns towards the door. A gasp stops him. 

"Your back, John…"

John stares back at Sherlock blankly until the stinging sensation from his back registers in his mind. 

Red scratches cover most of his back and his shoulders have toothmarks on them. John chuckles and goes back to reassure Sherlock with a kiss. 

"Have you seen yourself, love? We are quite the pair."

 

John comes back with a tray of toast, pastries and tea to find Sherlock inspecting himself in the full-length mirror. John sets the tray on the bed and goes to wrap his arms around Sherlock, pressing kisses and praises up his neck.

"Beautiful. Gorgeous. Amazing. Dazzling. Breathtaking. Lovely. Delicious."

Sherlock's breathing speeds up and his eyes drop shut while he tilts his head to give John more access to his neck. He moans when John bites lightly over one of the marks. 

"You know, I never did get to kiss every inch of you last night." John murmurs against the shell of Sherlock's ear before worrying it between his teeth. Sherlock gives a full-body shudder at John's tone. 

 

Memories from last night pour in, John kissing his way down Sherlock's torso, teasing Sherlock by licking into his hole, Sherlock snapping and demanding to be fucked, him arching so beautifully underneath John, his hands raking John's back, his moans growing louder and louder when John bit his neck again and again, his entire body trembling when John pulled his left leg over his good shoulder and hit his prostate on every thrust, finally coming with a shout when John pulled his hair back and bit under his jaw. 

 

John manoeuvres Sherlock back onto the bed and lifts the tray onto the bedside table before crawling over Sherlock. He starts by pressing kisses into Sherlock’s curls, then his brow, eyes, the tip of his nose, those sharp cheekbones, licking into that cupid’s bow before devouring that mouth again. John kisses, caresses and worships every inch of Sherlock he possibly can. Sherlock is losing his mind by the time John reaches his ribs and practically delirious when John is kissing his thighs. He had no idea that soft kisses could hurt this much, Sherlock is strung tight like one of the strings on his violin and he isn’t sure that he can take much more. The bedroom is filled with moans, keens and whimpers and Sherlock isn’t even certain what language he is speaking now, if any. All he knows are John’s lips on his skin and the sure knowledge that he will die if they should leave his skin for longer than a moment. It’s like floating on a cloud and being bathed in warm water, except the water is pure, undiluted adoration, reverence and love and Sherlock might just forget who he is, he isn’t sure anyone can survive this amount of emotions being poured over them and how do John’s lips on his calves make him feel like this, oh god…

 

Sherlock is shaking and John knows he needs to pull Sherlock back into the present, too much pleasure can be overwhelming for that brilliant, yet delicate mind. Sherlock comes back to John hovering over him once again, pressing kisses to his knuckles.

“All right, love? How are you feeling?”

Sherlock blushes, despite everything. John chuckles and presses a kiss to his palm.

“Good. Better. The best. You make me feel loved, like I’m worth something.”

John thinks he might have tears in his eyes.

“You are my whole world, I hope you know that. There is no one like you, no one who can do the things you do, who is so clever, so important to me. You. Are. Loved. So. Much.”

The last words are whispered onto Sherlock’s lips between sweet and delicate kisses. John pulls back to adore the depths of Sherlock’s eyes.

“May I continue? I have still your back to go.”

Sherlock nods and John helps him to turn onto his front. He starts again from Sherlock’s head, nuzzling the curls that smell of sweat, sex, coconut shampoo and home, of Sherlock. He trails downwards, admiring the delicate neck and the broad shoulders. The sight of Sherlock's back still makes him hesitate for a moment. 

 

John will never forget the first time he saw Sherlock’s bare back. He was finally back in Baker Street and he found Sherlock sleeping on the sofa one morning. He reached over to tuck the blanket tighter around Sherlock’s shoulders when he noticed that there were red slashes breaking the white, creamy skin into parts. John lifted the blanket to find that the entirety of Sherlock’s back was crisscrossed with dark scars, some from whips, some from blunt instruments, others were jagged and angry like someone tried to carve the skin with a broken blade, the army doctor in John catalogued automatically. He felt sick and he couldn’t breathe, he had treated soldiers with such injuries before and he knew what they had been through. He continued to stare in mute horror at those marks, unable to move even when Sherlock stirred from his sleep. 

 

John begins to trace the scars and kiss the marks, murmuring how much he loves Sherlock on the way. The thought of those two years still hurts and won’t probably ever fade, but he has forgiven Sherlock and might forgive himself one day. For now, he pours his love all over those scars, hoping to lessen the pain. 

 

Sherlock woke up fast, quickly flipping over to assess any potential danger. He calmed down when he saw it was just John, but tensed again when he realised what John must have seen. The scars were anything but pleasant or beautiful and they hadn't talked about those years. 

It abruptly became clear to John that he really should have asked more about what Sherlock had done during those two years. He also remembered what had happened during that dinner, how he had assaulted Sherlock three times, and now he really might vomit. John's knee gave out and he collapsed on the floor. 

Sherlock flinched, then reached out tentatively to help him up. John saw the fear of rejection in Sherlock's eyes and his heart fell even more. He got up and leaned on the coffee table, not letting go of Sherlock's hands. John didn't know where to start, but they had to address this, now. 

"What happened?" 

Sherlock took in a breath, there was no doubt to what John was asking. 

"I was captured in Serbia. It was the last mission, they knew by then that someone was infiltrating the bases. They caught me in a forest and took me to an underground Soviet era bunker. They b- they _worked_ me for information at first, then because I was a spy. I was there for a month according to Mycroft."

John had grown paler and paler, he couldn't believe he hadn't asked about this before. There was one more thing he needed to know. 

"When you came back, came to the restaurant, how much time had passed since you were at that place?"

Sherlock knew John would blame himself, he couldn't tell him.

"No, John, you don't need to worry about-"

"Please, Sherlock?" John pleaded. 

Sherlock looked down to their joined hands. 

"24 hours. Mycroft got me out during the night, he had me checked during the day and I was at the restaurant the same evening."

John felt tears forming in his eyes. He was appalled at himself, appalled that his first reaction hadn’t been to check if Sherlock was well, appalled that he could forget his Hippocratic oath so easily. Tears were streaming down John’s face and he was appalled because he shouldn’t even be crying, how could he take care of Sherlock if he was crying?

Then Sherlock's hands were around his body, pulling him onto the couch and stroking his back. John let his tears pour onto Sherlock's shoulder and he vowed to always take care of Sherlock, no matter his own feelings. 

 

John pushes away the memories of that day as he reaches Sherlock's butt and just marvels at it for a minute. He parts the cheeks and groans in answer to Sherlock's moan, the sight of that hole, just slightly red and puffy from last night, nearly breaking John's resolve. He licks over it once and moves on, ignoring Sherlock's whines. 

Thighs, popliteal fossa, calves, ankles, soles, toes, John kisses them all. With a final kiss to the little toes, making Sherlock giggle, he returns up to kiss Sherlock on the lips. The kiss doesn't last as long as Sherlock would like it to since John turns him onto his back again. John's eyes burn with an intensity not only from love and passion, but also fierce protection and sheer determination as he kisses the bullet hole scar on Sherlock's chest. 

"Every day. Every day I remember this and know how close I was to losing you. How close I was to never knowing you like this. To never telling you that I love you, have loved you since you looked at me that first time in that lab and saw _me_ , not the man I was pretending to be."

Sherlock furrows his brow at the last sentence. 

"John, I'm fairly certain you didn't fall in love with me that fast, you also seemed more annoyed-"

John presses his finger to Sherlock's lips and shushes him, a smirk forming on the edge of his lips nevertheless. 

"Hush, it's more romantic like this."

John quickly reaches for something on the bedside table before hiding it in his hands. He then fixes his eyes on Sherlock's and takes a deep breath. Sherlock feels like he should know what comes next, there is something nagging him, some memory or deduction, but all he can do is stare back at John and wait. 

"So, I want to ask you, William Sherlock Scott Holmes, on this same day, but many, perhaps too many years later, if you want to become my husband."

John carefully opens the box to reveal a simple ring of platinum. 

 

"Will you marry me?"

 

Sherlock feels like someone removed all the air from the room and then let it back in, now John's behaviour for the last few weeks makes sense, why they went out to dinner the day before the anniversary of their meeting, why John took longer to get back from the shops, why he had been even more affectionate, which Sherlock didn't think could have been possible, even the smug looks of Mycroft that had transformed into ones of pride made sense, no, forget Mycroft, he has no place in what is between the two of them-

John brings Sherlock out of his mind by cupping the side of his face, knowing that Sherlock would probably try and parse everything at once. There is a hint of fear in John's eyes, though, and Sherlock remembers he hasn't answered yet. 

 

"Yes. Obviously."

 

John laughs and presses his lips to Sherlock's, trust him to use his favourite word for making everyone else look stupid. But this time John doesn't feel dense, he feels loved. Like 'idiot' is a form of endearment between them, John knows that this is Sherlock telling John that he loves him. John chuckles and Sherlock makes an inquisitive noise. 

"I just remembered a few lines.   
_Doubt thou the stars are fire_ ,  
_Doubt that the sun doth move_ ,  
_Doubt truth to be a liar_ ,  
_But never doubt I love_."

Sherlock scrunches his nose at that.

"Hamlet. I do hope you remember how the play ended, it's not the best of things to quote when proposing to someone."

John shakes his head, of course Sherlock will latch onto that aspect. 

"You already accepted, love. Though I agree, that is definitely not what our future will look like. Maybe more like Benedick and Beatrice?"

Sherlock looks alarmed at the suggestion that he could ever be anything like Benedick or Beatrice. 

"I think I'll take Hamlet. He at least had some intelligent monologue, not like the antics of Benedick.”

John laughs at Sherlock’s dismissal of the character.

“Scared he might give you a run for your money? You both certainly have a penchant for the dramatic-“ John cuts off at Sherlock’s indignant glare, but he can’t stop giggling.

“Okay, okay, though I think I would make quite a good Beatrice. And you would be a good Hamlet.” Sherlock smirks in response.

“I’m not sure if Ophelia is quite what comes to mind when I think about you.” John chuckles at that though.

“No, I think I would be Horatio and in this version I would drag you back to Wittenberg if I had to and we would live happily ever after, who cares what happens in Denmark.” Sherlock smiles at the idea.

“I think I would come quite willingly, even Lestrade could figure out who killed the king.”

 

John laughs and remembers that he has yet to give the ring to Sherlock. He takes Sherlock’s hand, kisses it, and slips the ring on.

“I love you.”

Sherlock marvels at his hand and he thinks he might have tears in his eyes.

“Husband.”

“Not quite yet, love. Fiancé for now.” John doesn’t think he can ever stop smiling.

Sherlock fixes his eyes on John’s.

“Let’s get married today. I want to call you husband, want others to know that you are mine and that they can’t flirt with you, want them to know that someone loves me enough to marry me…” Sherlock looks vulnerable after the last admission, a lifetime of insecurities haunting him. John cradles Sherlock’s head in his arms, making him look into his eyes.

“I do. I love you more than the world, I love you forever and I would love you like this even if we’d never get married. I won’t lie and say that I don’t want to put a stop to other people’s looks as well and that I don’t want to show you off in front of others, especially all those gossipers in New Scotland Yard. But this is for others, I think we have been married for quite some time and a piece of paper won’t make me feel any different.

“As for getting married today, it isn’t quite as simple as it seems. I also think our friends wouldn’t be happy if we just eloped and wouldn’t invite them.”

Sherlock kisses John long and sweet, then lunges for his phone, already planning the wedding.

“Don’t be daft, John, Mycroft can organise everything in a few hours. I suspect he has had the paperwork drawn since you bought that ring. You will get my grandfather’s ring, I severely doubt Mycroft would ever put it to use. Mrs Hudson is downstairs, Lestrade has a day off, same for Stamford and Molly. I suppose my parents should be invited, Mycroft can organise that. Would you like to invite your sister?” Sherlock glances up from his phone to see John’s reaction.

“Yeah, I suppose I should invite Harry. She should be in London.” Despite their differences, John wants his sister to be there to witness this.

Sherlock nods and turns back to the phone, shooting off more texts to his brother.

“Mycroft will arrange that. We can have a party later if we want to invite more people, but I think the ceremony should be with only the important people.”

John presses a kiss to his shoulder.

“You read my mind, love. I suppose we should get up then.” John makes to move away from Sherlock, but he doesn’t get far, as Sherlock discards his phone and pulls John back on top of him.

“I believe we were in the middle of something before you proposed.” John laughs at the hunger in Sherlock’s eyes.

“Oh, so sex is more important than me pledging my eternal love to you?” Sherlock huffs and rolls his eyes.

“Of course not, John, but you can’t leave me like this after all you did to me! Besides, I want to make love to my fiancé at least once before I marry him.” Sherlock pleads, acting coy.

“Then you shouldn’t have planned the wedding for the same day as the proposal.” John smirks.

“But I want to make love to my husband as soon as possible, stop being an idiot, John!” Sherlock whines.

“I thought I _was_ an idiot, didn’t think I could stop being one.” John teases Sherlock, amused by how Sherlock looks more and more like a petulant child who is being denied sweets.

John relents after a few seconds and presses his lips to Sherlock’s. The sweetness doesn’t last long as John moves to devour Sherlock’s mouth, promising to ravish his fiancé, soon to be husband.

 

And who can blame him if Sherlock walks a bit stiffly during the ceremony, he is marrying the man he loves he more than anything in this world, the man who saved him all those years ago and every day since. The bites on Sherlock’s neck don’t leave any doubt to the nature their activities anyway.

John didn’t think he could ever be more in love than he already is, but Sherlock’s expression when they are pronounced to be husbands is the happiest he has ever seen grace that face and so John falls just a little bit more. He beams back and pulls Sherlock in, confirming his vows with a kiss he will never forget.

 

Sherlock doesn’t walk at all the day after that.


End file.
